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“And yet you march into our Hall and demand a new war?”

“Kyrianos speaks in my ear.” It was an expression that conveyed the gravity of a request, but it had started to feel true. Listen. Do my bidding.

Toer smirked. “Until she signs contracts, that means nothing to us.”

“Where is your ring?” Svei again. He pointed to her bare hand. “If you are the child of Hyld Gondyttr, where is your claim?”

More grunts of agreement. These men went back and forth as easily as if tugged on a rope. “It was stolen from me by a slaver.”

The murmurs grew into shouts and calls, making her ears ring. Toer and Svei and another man who had a dozen braids tied into two long ones at his cheeks yelled louder, trying to restore order.

“If you were enslaved in the south, where is your rune?”

“No Isfolj walks into Lordinius and walks back out.”

“If you are soti, where is your weapon?”

This last quieted the room. Revni bit the inside of her cheek, trying to stay calm. “I had an ax and shield that were lost. I had an antler knife that was taken. I had an Aleterian ax that I made new, and the Sculpae have it now.” More murmurs. Revni unlooped Eavus’ short blade—the one he’d taken from the Sculpae—and presented it. “I took this from an Aleterian soldier near the monastery beneath the Muzzle. It is the best I could do.”

Buzzing and argument and disbelief. More bees, but the stinging kind. Revni waited, sweat pooling at her back. Where had that breeze gone? The room was stifling now, too hot with breath and fear and men. No women ruled in Eaborik, apparently. Another insult to the goddess. Revni soured further.

“Even if you are who you say you are—” The oldest man in the group—a soti, not a jurl, by his lack of decoration—pushed himself to standing. He only had one leg, and he hobbled toward her, the worn wooden stump scraping across the floor. “You are not the last surviving heir. Hyld Gondyttr had two children.” He was in front of her now, sneering with victory. His teeth were rotten. “I also know Isfjold.”

“Ynge Hyldyttr married.” Her sister’s name pained her to say. “The elder is of Clan Myrsson now.”

The old warrior looked her over, judging. Finally, he harumphed. “That is correct.” He turned back to his seat.

“Then she is the heir.” The third jurl hadn’t introduced himself. He sat on the other side of Toer. “She is the oldest child. She and her husband and children have the claim here.”

Revni’s stomach dropped. This was why she had needed that ring.

“My mother intended it for me.”

“Too bad she is not here, then.” He didn’t sound disappointed.

Toer quieted the room again. “You speak Isfolj, and you seem to know our ways.” Revni bristled at the nods of agreement. What exactly was this meeting deciding? “You may sell yourself into service as a thyl, and join an Isfolj household.”

Revni leaped forward, and men leaped to their feet. “I am Revni Hyld⁠—”

“Who can vouch for you? You have no claim, no company. By all accounts, Hyld Gondyttr and her family are dead, murdered by Aleteria—who you now claim to have dealings with! How do we know you are not a pretender to her claim? If you were Isfolj, you would know our laws. You would not appear before us with such disrespect, without an introduction, claiming soti status without a decent weapon, without even an offering for the gods.” The vein in his forehead was pulsing blue.

“You are not a true Council!” Revni spit. “You are a gathering of jurls who have bowed down to Aleteria!”

Someone lunged, and Revni saw the flash of light before the wind of cold steel breezed past. She whirled, elbowing the man in the ribs and twisting his arm so hard she could feel it about to pop. The blade clattered to the floor, but Revni held on. She wrenched his wrist higher, so high up his back she knew he was in pain, but to his credit, he didn’t yelp.

“Let him go, little wolf.” The second jurl. He sounded amused. “You may be soti yet, but if you want to state your claim properly, you will wait for the winter Council. Until then, you will sell yourself into service or leave Norbucum. There is no place here for an Isfolj of no status who will not work.”

Revni’s heart was thundering. Her breath came short. She was so stupid—to have insulted them, to have come here at all. Slowly, she released the man, but when he went to pick up his sword, she put a foot on it. The man turned to the jurls for help, but Toer only shrugged. He should not have used his sword if he wasn’t willing to lose it.

Hefting the sword pulled memory in her muscles: of Eavus, of the weight of his weapon in her hands. It was inappropriate to wish he was beside her.

“It is only three months.”

Revni scoffed. “There will be no city in three months. The Aleterians are coming.” She pointed the weapon to the windows, to the sea. “They will be arriving at that port within the week, and they have orders to wipe the Isfolj from the map. Where will your Councils be then? When all of you men in power are dead?”

Again, the shouting, rising up to challenge, but Toer held her gaze, considering.

“How do you know this, girl?”